Anything Else He's Got Two Of?
by Marian.Locksley
Summary: She hadn't really expected it to come to anything – it had been one of those spur-of-the-moment things... Rose and the Doctor - rated M for a reason.


**Author's note: This is for arcadiadimond because she made me write it, and because I am deserting her for six months. It is my first Doctor Who story and it is not cannon – well bits are - but what the hell. Enjoy. **

**...**

She hadn't really expected it to come to anything – it had been one of those spur-of-the-moment things, like running around the estate naked (although admittedly she had been drunk when she'd done that one). Now, as she lay in his arms feeling the rise and fall of his chest and hearing his two hearts beating in perfect rhythm, she smiled.

-DW-

"Hold on!"

"I am."

"Well hold on tighter."

The Doctor's voice was strained with the effort of speaking while two other simultaneous tasks. He may have been a time lord and a genius but he was still a man, and men, Rose had decided, couldn't multitask.

"You know if you got me some duct tape I could fix that so you didn't have to hold it down every time we moved."

"You are not touching the mechanics, and anyway, why would I have duct tape on the TARDIS?" The Doctor's tone suggested she was a complete idiot for even think it.

"Because any normal person would."

"Would you love me if I were normal?"

"No."

The change was almost tangible as the full implications of their words sunk in.

"I, ummm..." Rose trailed off, tucking a stray hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture.

"Yeah, we'll, um, yeah." Colour rose to The Doctor's cheeks and he turned away, immersing himself in the intricate mechanics that were his ship.

Rose watched him, watched the way his hands fluttered over the console – like a butterfly, she thought. Actually that was quite an accurate description of The Doctor: a butterfly. Fast moving, beautiful, exotic, living everyday like it was his last. He was a butterfly. Her butterfly.

She hardly realised what she was doing, like her mind has disengaged from her body and drifted up to the roof of the TARDIS. He's so old and yet he seems so young sometimes, said her mind, like he's lived too long and I trying to forget. Her hands reached out and placed themselves on his shoulders, spinning him around. He looked up, surprised.

"Rose, what are you d- oh."

Her mouth moved into his and when they finally met she could think of nothing else. Tongues danced, merging together to become one – loosing time and place. She could feel his hands in her hair, her shirt, moving down.

He pulled away suddenly and she gripped his hand tight to stop him. Surely, surely he could feel it too?

"No." The word uttered from those lips made her heart break and she felt the tears – how could he?

She barely heard the other words, but somehow she realised what he meant.

"Not here."

He pulled her along after him, through twisting-turning corridors – right into the heart of the TARDIS.

The room they entered was unfamiliar but she knew at once it was his; everything about it spoke of him. She realised she'd never seen him leave the console, but he had to sleep somewhere. Now she'd seen that somewhere.

The bed was soft, too soft (it was definitely alien, but then, so was he) and the covers felt like water against her bare skin. At some point between leaving the console and arriving here she had lost her shirt and jeans, and, as his clever fingers danced across her stomach, she knew she was about to lose more.

Suddenly she remembered something her mother has said to her when she has explained The Doctor had two hearts. "Anything else he's got two of?" she had questioned. Well Rose was about to find out.

She looked up and saw a new depth in his chocolate eyes – he was so old, so sad, so alone – again the mood changed. This was no longer lust, it was comfort. Comfort for him, this tired lonely soul, and comfort for her because she would leave him, one way or another they'd both be alone.

Their lips touched and she gasped as a hot clever tongue made its way down her body. He had removed her bra and his breasts seemed pale against his hands. He kissed each nipple – flicking out his tongue and nipping them. This was so different from how she'd imagined it, so much...more.

His hands massaged the soft flesh and his mouth found hers again. They both wanted it, she could feel him hard against her thigh and her breathing was becoming erratic.

How does he do it she wondered? She was an estate girl, hardly new to all this, yet he made her feel like a virgin again. He worships your body her mind told her, he is worshipping you. As if hearing her thoughts The Doctor moved, trailing kisses down her stomach, and curling his hands in her hair.

By some miracle her underpants had stayed on and he slipped a finger under the elastic waist. She almost purred – it felt so good. He stroked her softly, letting the coarse black hair run across his palm. He tested her with his fingers – pressing gently into her soft, damp entrance. She arched her hips to meet his hand and he smiled, she was ready.

"Are you sure about this?" He whispered the words quietly in her ears, checking she was okay. She nodded.

"Yes."

His suit was still on, although his coat and shoes has long since disappeared. Gently she pulled the garments from his slender form. Perhaps in another time she would have ripped them from his body, but for now she was content with this slow, entrancing rhythm.

As she lowered the white cloth from around his hips she reached down and ran her fingers across his length. Even this part of him felt different – exotic, and she let her fingers explore. For a while he allowed her to simply touch him, but eventually it grew too much.

"I need you now." He whispered, and she glanced up at him in silent agreement.

He pushed into her, deep inside, and she felt every inch of him. This was so different from sex, the rough, shameful practice partaken in the back or cars; this was sensual and gentle – this was love-making.

They set up a gentle rhythm, his hips rocking forwards into hers, his hands on her breasts. Their tongues swirled together and she traced his body with her fingertips, tying to memorise it. He bought her closer with each thrust – whispering endearments to her in a language she did not understand.

She came silently, her mouth pursed in a single 'oh' of ecstasy. Bright lights flashed before her eyes and she rode out the sensation. She could still feel him inside her and soon enough he joined her, crying out her name.

-DW-

Later they lay together, her caressing his cheeks and feeling the soft down that covered his chest brush against hers. He simply lay there; staring at the woman next to him with an indescribable look on is face.

"I love you." She whispered and he felt his mouth pull up into a weary smile.

Living as long as he has takes its toll, and sometimes he wishes he could just end it, but its moments like these that make him fight on.

They both fall asleep later – tangles in each other's arms, and the next day when they wake they carry on as if nothing has happened.


End file.
